


and we're tried and true

by earlymorningechoes



Series: esther hawke: ringing joyful and triumphant [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Friendship, Gen, Mild Language, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlymorningechoes/pseuds/earlymorningechoes
Summary: Esther and her family aren't handling the sardines-in-a-can experience of Gamlen's house well. She runs into Varric at the Hanged Man, and they get themselves into a bit of trouble. Nothing they can't handle.





	and we're tried and true

After a knock-down, drag-out, family-wide fight that leaves Gamlen sulking and Mother in tears, Carver storms out the door, greatsword on his back and every Kirkwall stormcloud in his face. Esther waits precisely five minutes, trying to pretend she knows how to handle this sort of thing, before following his example. 

She leaves her staff propped in the corner, a subtle, modified repulsion glyph woven around it to prevent anyone noticing or trying to take it. Including Gamlen. The staff’s not a necessary thing, she’s just far more comfortable with it on her back than without. But Athenril’s protection of her prize mage isn't there anymore, not when she's out finding her own work and fucking around Lowtown herself. She's always been able to channel more than enough mana for most things without the staff, though, both of them are -  _ were _ . A fact that made Esther proud and Bethany shy away from her magic even more. 

Bethany. Bethany would've known how to handle tonight's blowup without shrinking out the door, would know how to talk to Mother in a voice that wasn't shouting. She may not have wanted to understand her magic, but she understood people, more than she thought she did, and Esther wishes she had half that knowledge to bring into Gamlen’s tumble-down Lowtown house. Maybe they wouldn’t feel so much like they’re crashing someone’s party.

She swipes at the tears threatening in her eyes, and looks up to find her feet have walked her to the Hanged Man. The doors are flung open and blurry conversation spills out into the street, along with a circle of reflected candlelight. It smells like cheap ale, too many people, and stale piss, and it's just what she needs. 

A seat’s open at the end of one of the long benches, and she drops into it with a wave at Norah. A mug of ale appears in front of her a moment later, and so does a familiar dwarf. 

“Drinking alone, Shorebird?” Varric asks, tossing a copper to Norah when Esther doesn't. 

“Not anymore, apparently.” She gestures him to the space on the bench across from her. He climbs up, and the way his legs dangle puts a smile on her face she didn't think would appear for a lot longer. All the furniture in his room is dwarf-sized, so she’s used to choking on her knees while she drinks with him. It's a nice change. 

“Damned human-sized furniture,” he mutters under his breath, and her smile turns into a laugh. He grins in such a way that she knows the comment was for her benefit. Another mug of ale appears on the table, and he drains half of it in one gulp. “What's ailing you?”

She sniggers. “Ale-ing. Nice.” Stalling, she takes another sip from her mug and glances around the room. It's all the usual suspects tonight, various Lowtown louts and Fereldan refugees and the occasional guardsman just off their shift. It's loud, and crowded, and the perfect place to forget all her troubles. If he'd let her. 

Varric waits. She'll give him that - he's remarkably patient, when he wants to be. He nurses his ale more sedately, swinging his feet in the too-big chair, and waits for her to come clean. 

“Fuck you, Varric,” she finally says, and drains the last the mug in one swig, banging it down on the rickety table when she's done. “Just family shit. It's not important.”

It’s not often that Varric doesn’t have a ready answer. He just nods slowly, and takes another sip. “Did I ever tell you about the qunari mage Bartrand hoodwinked onto our last expedition?” he asks, his eyes wide and as innocent as he can make them.

Laughter rises from the patrons next to them, wedged in on the bench. “You’re a terrible liar, Varric,” one of them says, raising their mug to him.

“I resent that!” he cries. “I’ll have you know that I am an  _ exquisite _ liar, but this is definitely one hundred percent true.” He launches into another one of his tales, one that is obviously false (he’s never met a qunari mage, as far as she knows, let alone been on an expedition with one). But his wide-eyed pretense has her and the rest of his audience holding their sides from laughter soon enough.

Norah refills their mugs, and after the story someone produces a Wicked Grace deck. She's got nothing to play with, but Varric spots her, and she cleans their new friends out with an easy smile. Her shoulders start to relax, tension easing. 

“Fucking dog lord!” comes a sudden screech, when the Angel of Death card comes up and Esther lays her hand flat on the table - four knights: ages, dawn, mercy, and sacrifice. Another win. 

The screecher jumps up from the bench, his path a little wobbly from alcohol consumption. “You're cheating!”

“Now, now,” Varric says, helping gather Esther's winnings so none of the audience takes them, “that's no way to be a gracious loser.”

With another screech, the man tries to aim a punch at Varric, but his own inebriation and Varric’s lack of height mean he misses by a mile. Varric ducks even so, sliding out from the bench.

Esther does, too. “Hey!” she shouts. The angry man turns toward her and raises his fist again, but she sidesteps it and drives a mana-enhanced punch into his gut. He slumps over, heaving, and she spins to face his friends trying to disentangle themselves from the bench.

“So, my good men, you’ll find that I can more than hold my own in a fight. And if you don’t want to end up like your friend over here,” she points her foot backward at the man still gasping for breath, “you’re going to let me just walk on out of here with my winnings and we’ll forget all about this. How’s that sound?”

One of the man’s friends looks like he’s considering the offer, but the other winds up for another punch. Esther lets him get it in - he’s so drunk it feels more like a mild shove - and follows with another punch of her own, softer than the last but in the shoulder.

A number of Fereldans from the next table over stand up as the reluctant one advances on her, and she tips an imaginary hat to them in thanks before he grabs at her arm. He’s stronger than his friends, and it’s more of a fight for a few moments. One of the incoming Fereldans throws a wild punch that makes him loosen his grip and she wriggles away from him, heading for the door with Varric on her heels.

She’s laughing before they even make it onto the street. The denizens of late-night Lowtown barely glance up at the intrusion. They walk towards Gamlen’s house, still chuckling. “Cheating at cards so much you start a bar fight, Shorebird. That’s one way to have an interesting evening.”

Pretending to be affronted, Esther flattens a hand on her chest in a horrendous impersonation of Leandra. “Me? Cheating? I am appalled that you could ever think such a thing of me. I would never cheat!” She flutters her other hand through the air like she’s supposed to be holding an ornate fan - this imitation, spot on.

The sound Varric makes is something like a cross between a nug and a pig. “And I’m next in line for the Sunburst Throne. Honestly I’m glad for it, you’re far more interesting than the usual clientele.”

They’re in front of Gamlen’s place now, and Esther leans against the sagging stairway. “That’s not saying much, though.”

Varric tilts his head and a hand toward her, agreeing. “That’s true. Anyway, I’d best get back before the fight’s too rowdy and they kick everyone out, that’s always some fun people-watching. See you later, Shorebird.” He turns and heads back the way they came.

Still leaning on the stairs, Esther taps one foot against the carved-stone ground. It’s a familiar sound, and it helps center her thoughts. “Varric?” she calls. He turns back, a question in the angle of his head.

She takes a deep breath. “Just...thanks. For being there tonight. It helped.”

No response, for a moment, and then he nods. “Anytime, Hawke.”


End file.
